Writers Unite

Today begins a new series. I’m joining up with a group of writers who confess that sometimes platform-building (read: blogging) gets in the way of writing (read: creativity). We’re taking a stand to reclaim our lives, our passions, and our dreams. Learn more and join us, here.

For me, this going to look like a fictional piece posted every Friday through the month of October. Not even a different piece, those are easy to whip out; the same piece in segments. I’m going to take four weeks to tell a short story, posting a section every Friday.

I hope you’ll read along. As you do, I encourage you to share your thoughts, impressions, reactions, or maybe even what you think will happen next. It’s going to be hard to be bold in this without your support. After all, at the moment, this story makes me feel like a horrible person… and has no ending.

The intercom system beeped and the administrative assistant’s voice flooded the room, “Dr. Paszek?”

“Go ahead,” he said, still palpating the patient’s abdomen.

“Your wife is on line one. She needs to speak to you immediately,” receptionist said.

“Tell her I’m with a patient and will call her back as soon as I’m free.”

“With all due respect, sir, you need to take this call.”

Brett sighed. “Ok.” He turned to his patient, “I’m so sorry.” Brett pulled his gloves off while walking to the phone. After the first ring, he picked up the handset. “Is everything ok?” Brett paused. “Woah, woah, woah, Honey, slow down, I can’t understand you.” He turned his back to the patient and gripped the counter top as he listened to the horrifying scene Sarah described to him. “What hospital?” Surely he was misunderstanding what had happened. “Who’s all there with you?” Brett’s head spun. “Ok, take a deep breath. Don’t drive yourself. I’ll send someone for you. Did you hear me?” He tried to figure out who could drop everything and get to his house faster than he could. “Sarah, Honey, I love you. I’ll meet you there.”

Brett hung up the phone, took a deep breath, and dialed his sister Krissy’s phone number. The numbers came easily. Words took more time. “Go by my house, get the girls, and meet me at Children’s stat.” He didn’t have time to tell her more. “Thanks. Love you.”

Brett’s office was practically within walking distance of Children’s Hospital. He was grateful to be in an exam room where the helicopter was hard to hear. He silently prayed that it had already landed and his youngest daughter was already being pulled from the clutches of death.

He was getting ahead of himself. He couldn’t leave yet. He looked up at his patient who now sat up with a terrified look on his face.

“I’m so sorry. There’s been a family emergency. I’ve got to go. I’m going to find Dr. Rich to finish your exam. Sorry.”

He excused himself from the room and suddenly appeared at the front desk. He had no memory of walking there.

“You really don’t look good,” the receptionist said. “Everything ok?”

“Courtney,” he said and paused. He wasn’t even sure the words would come out. “Was hit by a car.”

Installment Number Two.

TweetBuffer